A World of Hurt: Exhaustion
by Alipeeps
Summary: Part of a series of Shep whumpy tag fics to Season 3 eps. Misbegotten tag. SPOILERS FOR MISBEGOTTEN! He was waiting for them in the jumper bay.... NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_Part of the "A World of Hurt" series – an ongoing, only slightly AU series of whumpy tag fics to the each of the Season 3 episodes. By hook or by crook I will work some Shep whump into every episode.. if TPTB won't do it, then I'll just have to do it myself :) These stories are designed to fit in with the canon of Season 3 – imagine, if you will, that they take place "off-screen" before, during or after the episode, as appropriate._

_This fic, second in the series, is the tag fic for Misbegotten and is Carson POV. Should be about two chapters in total._

_Please read and review._

_**SPOILERS FOR MISBEGOTTEN!

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Beckett was waiting for them in the jumper bay when they arrived. The Daedalus had docked with just a skeleton crew onboard – from what he'd been told there was just about enough oxygen left in the atmosphere for a handful of people to stay on the bridge long enough to fly the damaged ship from the orbiting hive ship down to the city, though even then they'd been cutting it close. All the remaining Daedalus crew and the members of the Atlantis team had had to be transported from the hive ship by puddle-jumper.

Naturally, Sheppard was on the last jumper to return, having overseen the evacuation of all the other personal before being persuaded to board a jumper himself. Beckett wasn't sure he'd ever been so pleased to see the Colonel, McKay and Ronon walk exhaustedly down the jumper ramp. They'd genuinely thought they'd lost them all this time.

They'd mourned them.

And then he saw who walked down the ramp behind them and he knew why a security detail had also been waiting in the jumper bay. Michael. The living, walking, talking reminder of the compound of errors that had been the retrovirus project. A project for which he alone bore the ultimate responsibility.

It had started out as a desire to establish peace in the Pegasus galaxy, to neutralise the Wraith threat by freeing them from what he saw as an unnatural evolution. They didn't need to be killers. They could be cured, made whole.. made human again. They had been human once, after all…

But it had all gone so horribly wrong… almost from the start. Elia taking the drug before it was ready and devolving into some vicious proto-Wraith, attacking Sheppard so mercilessly that he and Ronon had had no choice but to kill her. Sheppard's infection with the mutated strain, the havoc it had wreaked on his DNA, on his body and mind. Dear god, they'd come this close to losing him for good.

And then Michael. Michael who they'd experimented on, lied to, deceived and ultimately lost control over, leaving them once again at risk from the Wraith, vulnerable to attack because Beckett's retrovirus had failed. It was as a direct result of that failure that they had been forced to ally with the Wraith, been given no other choice but to trust them even when their every instinct screamed not to. It had felt like long-awaited, even well-deserved, retribution when their allies had turned on them and they'd thought they'd lost it all. Ronon, McKay, Sheppard – Earth itself.

And now here they were, safe and sound and bringing Michael with them. Fully returned to his Wraith physiology and yet still.. he had helped them, saved everyone. Mere survival instinct, Beckett wondered, or did the Wraith truly retain some connection to the human state he had so briefly shared. Deep in his heart, Beckett still harboured a hope that Michael, that all of them, could be saved.

Michael came to a halt, hissing, as he spied the security personnel and Sheppard sensed his hesitation, stopping also and turning to the Wraith, his face unreadable. The security detail had drawn handheld stunners and Sheppard gave no orders to put them away, simply regarding Michael with a steady, uncompromising gaze. His voice was tired, raw but nonetheless firm. "Can't just let you wander the city, Michael."

The Wraith snarled at that, his eyes narrowing in disdain. "I betray my kind to save you and this is how you repay me?" His voice was deep, multi-layered, rumbling in his chest.

Sheppard gestured to the security team and they stepped forward, their stunners trained on the Wraith. "We'll talk about this later." His tone brooked no refusal and, with a last snarl, Michael seemed to concede the point, his defiant attitude deserting him as he was forced to acknowledge that, right now, he had no other options. He let the security team lead him away.

The missing members of Atlantis' primary gate team stepped off the jumper ramp and into the city and he could see in their faces the relief at being home again – a home he was sure they had all thought they would never see again.

"Hey, Doc." Sheppard's grin was tired but genuine.

"Colonel Sheppard. Am I pleased to see you.." He was studying them as he spoke, noting the exhaustion in the slump of their shoulders, the shakiness of their steps.

"Yeah. Sorry 'bout scaring you like that with the hive ship and all.."

"We're just pleased to have you back, Colonel. All of you."

"Nice to be back," Ronon rumbled, positively eloquently for the usually taciturn Runner.

McKay nodded. "Can't quite believe we made it," he sighed, a note of wonder in his voice.

Ronon and Rodney looked equally as tired and drawn as the Colonel, the three of them suffering the after-effects of a situation that Sheppard had somewhat glibly summed up as "Out of food and water and haven't slept in days." Carson's eyes narrowed thoughtfully; there was more to it than that though, he could tell. The Colonel in particular seemed more than just exhausted, there was a stiffness to his posture and a tightness around his eyes that spoke of pain and discomfort and Carson was not surprised to find Rodney giving him a significant look from behind the Colonel's back.

Ah, well. Business as usual then.

"Let's get you all down to the infirmary and get you checked over then," he stated firmly, falling into step with them as they turned their weary feet in the direction of the infirmary.

They were halfway to the infirmary when Sheppard abruptly stumbled, Ronon reaching out instinctively to grab his CO as he staggered against the wall.

"Colonel?" Before Carson could do more than express his concern, Sheppard was pushing himself off the wall, Ronon's grip steadying him as he swayed momentarily.

"I'm fine Doc, just tired." He set off again determinedly and Carson hurried along behind, figuring that the best thing to do was get him to the infirmary as soon as possible before he keeled over for good.

For once not a one of Sheppard's gate team protested as they were assigned beds in the infirmary, McKay hopping up onto the bed with a sigh of relief and Ronon immediately stretching his lean form out along the mattress, releasing the tension of tired muscles, his booted feet dangling over the edge of the bed. Sheppard was slower to climb onto the bed, his movements stiff and painful-looking.

"Right then, let's get you looked at." Carson put aside his concerns, his relief at seeing his friends alive and well, and slipped easily into his usual calm, professional manner. "Jenny, can you look after Ronon for me? Adam, see to Dr McKay please. Make sure you check his blood sugar.." With Ronon and Rodney in good hands, Carson finally turned his attention to Colonel Sheppard.

The Colonel looked exhausted, almost haggard, his shoulders slumped as he sat on the edge of the exam bed, his legs swinging. Carson frowned as he noticed the large, dark stain on the right leg of Sheppard's BDU pants. What had the man done to himself now? He fixed the Colonel with a penetrating look and asked, "Are you going to tell me what happened or shall I just take a guess based on your injuries?"

Sheppard had a half-hearted try at prevarication, "Long story, doc..", before McKay piped up from the neighbouring bed.

"He got his ship blown in half and his leg filled full of shrapnel and he passed out on the hive ship!"

The Colonel winced, took one look at the stern expression on Beckett's face and gave a rueful smile. "It's really not as bad as it sounds…"

Carson sighed. "I would certainly hope not, Colonel. Well, let's have a looksee then, shall we?"

He started off with the basics, checking blood pressure and temperature, pulse and pupil reactions. He frowned as he flicked the flashlight in and out of Shepard's eyes. "Did you hit your head at all, Colonel?"

Sheppard did at least have the grace to look sheepish as he admitted, "I'm not sure. I don't actually remember much about the ship getting hit."

"_What?_" McKay interrupted, impatiently pushing aside the nurse trying to check his blood pressure as he struggled to jump down from his bed. "You never mentioned that before! Why didn't you tell me that?" His voice rose in indignation. "Why didn't you tell the _medical team_ that? They'd have never let you back on active duty if you'd…"

"Thank you, Rodney," Carson interrupted calmly, stopping the irate scientist in his stride, "I'll do the lecturing from here on in, if you don't mind." He checked the pupil reactions one last time and laid the flashlight down with a sigh, his hands on his hips as he regarded the exhausted officer.

"What do you remember, Colonel?"

Sheppard frowned, his eyes distant as he tried to remember. Carson was keenly aware of Rodney perching on the edge of his bed to eavesdrop but the scientist seemed to know better than to interrupt as Sheppard began to speak, slowly.

"I was in the F302. I targeted the hyperdrive on the one hive ship - and then all hell broke loose. Darts everywhere; too many of em. I tried to avoid them but they swarmed out of the hives like roaches, all of them firing at me. I took some fire…"

Sheppard's eyes met Carson's. "After that it gets pretty confusing. Lots of noise, bright lights. I remember the ship shaking, being thrown to the side. I'm pretty sure the wing was gone – I think I remember looking out the canopy and seeing that…"

He grimaced. "Err.. I think I might have blacked out for a bit? 'Cause I don't really remember much after that at all – just being dragged along a corridor by a coupla really big, ugly Wraith."

For a moment Carson was stunned and from the look on McKay's face he guessed none of them had had any idea just how close Sheppard had come to dying out there in the cold vacuum of space. Even Ronon had sat up on his bed, a frown on his face.

"Good god, son. Are you _serious_?"

"Well, I was probably venting atmosphere too.. the damage was pretty extensive. I guess all the conduits along the right hand side blew when the wing got sheared and that's how I got this.." He gestured matter-of-factly at his blood-stained pants.

Beckett shook off the shock; it never ceased to amaze him how calm and accepting the Colonel could be of life-threatening experiences that would leave a lesser man a gibbering wreck. A part of him couldn't help but wonder if that was simply a necessary survival tactic on the Colonel's part; if you spent too much time thinking about just how close you'd come to dying, time and again, you wouldn't be able to function. And yet.. it didn't seem healthy to simply block off that fear, that thrill of terror at such a close escape, and Carson had his concerns that, one day, something would have to give.

"Aye. Well. Let's have a look at this leg then, shall we?"

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_TBC…._


	2. Chapter 2

_Second and final chapter of my Misbegotten tag. Hopefully this fits in fairly nicely with the canon of the ep. Right then, I'm two for two – bring on Irresistible :)_

_Please read and review

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Colonel Sheppard fell asleep during his scan.

Carson couldn't say he was surprised; Sheppard's various injuries aside, from all accounts the man had not slept in days. Quite frankly, the doctor was amazed he'd stayed awake as long as he had.

Beckett had turned back from pulling the privacy curtains, much to McKay's disgruntlement, to find the Colonel had stiffened up enough just in the short time he'd been sat on the exam bed that he'd needed Carson's support to stand up and unfasten his pants. He had been able to feel the man's frame trembling minutely as Sheppard had insisted on removing his own pants and he'd realised the Colonel had been running on sheer determination and willpower alone for god only knew how long. He'd helped ease the exhausted man back up onto the bed as quickly as possible and insisted on getting him into a gown.

Sheppard had wanted to argue but even he'd had to see that scrubs weren't an option when Beckett needed to examine and treat his leg and even an infirmary gown offered marginally more dignity that sitting around in just his t-shirt and boxers. Carson had wisely neglected to mention his opinion that Colonel Sheppard would also be needing the gown for the duration of a minimum overnight stay in the infirmary. Carson had not been overly surprised to see the collection of bruises mottling Sheppard's torso as John had stiffly pulled his t-shirt over his tousled head; from what little information the team had shared of the events of the past few days, it was a wonder he didn't have worse injuries to treat.

He'd helped to swing the Colonel's legs up onto the bed as Sheppard had grudgingly lain back against the raised pillows. Now that he was home, now that he and his team were safe, Carson could see that the adrenalin that had been keeping the Colonel going was draining rapidly away. As soon as Sheppard had let himself begin to relax his iron control, the events of the past few days had caught up to him, fatigue and the physical toll of his injuries crashing over him all at once. He lay limply on the exam bed, his limbs sprawled carelessly, his eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion, even as Beckett had gently pushed up the gown enough to examine his injured leg.

The Colonel's thigh had been firmly wrapped by the Daedalus' medical team, the field dressing marked with spotted discolouration where blood had seeped through the bandages. Carson had been as gentle as he could be in peeling back the dressings but, even so, he had been painfully aware of Sheppard tensing soundlessly as the stiff, crusted fabric pulled away from his wounds.

"Sorry, son."

Sheppard had merely grunted in acknowledgement, his body held stiffly as the dressing finally came away in Beckett's hands. Carson had grimaced at the sight of Sheppard's thigh. The outer side of the leg, from the top of the thigh to down around the knee joint, was peppered with what looked like hundreds of small penetrating wounds, each crusted over with dried blood, some of them already seeping blood and serous fluid where the act of removing the dressing had broken open the scabbing. Most of the wounds were fairly small and would heal easily on their own but several had been larger in size and some of the edges were ragged from where, Carson had assumed, the Daedalus medics had had to work free deeply embedded pieces of shrapnel. He had quickly become absorbed in his work, leaning forward to closely examine the injuries, his gloved hands gently palpating the damaged flesh, deciding immediately that at least a couple of the wounds would probably need steri-strips, maybe even stitches, to help them close up properly.

The most immediate concern for the moment though, of course, had been the possibility of any foreign bodies remaining in the wounds and the concomitant risk of infection; hence the scan.

Having Ancient technology to hand was a boon for which Carson never ceased to be grateful. Whereas, in an Earth hospital, Sheppard would have had to go to the machine, and be moved from his bed onto the scanner itself, here Carson was able to bring the machine to his patient and Sheppard could stay where he was, eventually drifting off to sleep as the scanner passed almost silently over his exhausted body.

Beckett couldn't help something of a smile curving his lips as he waited for the scanner to finish its work. The Colonel looked almost boyish in his sleep, his messy, tousled hair sticking up in odd directions against the starched white pillow, his face relaxed, the tension of pain and worry smoothed away. Danger was a fact of life here in the Pegasus galaxy and it was a hard burden Colonel Sheppard had to bear, with so many lives under his responsibility; not only the lives of the expedition members but also the billions of lives back home on Earth if he should fail in his duty to repel the Wraith threat. They'd skirted close to that failure of late; too damn close.

The scanner beeped to a conclusion and Beckett turned his attention to the readout, a frown marring his brow as he studied the results. He sighed heavily. Much as he would have liked to let the Colonel enjoy some much-needed rest, it looked like Sheppard's troubles weren't over just yet.

Rodney was hovering as he opened up the privacy curtains and pushed the scanner ahead of him, gliding the sensitive equipment carefully across the infirmary floor before securing it in its usual resting place.

"How's he doing?" Rodney took a glance through the open curtains before trotting after Beckett, his apprehension evident in his voice.

"Sleeping," Carson answered simply, turning to fix the agitated scientist with a mildly disapproving look, "as you should be."

"Me?" McKay squeaked, "I'm fine. I'm not the one who had to have half a spaceship dug out of his leg – and, by the way, that has to be one of the most gruesome things it has ever been my misfortune to witness, I mean the sight of Sheppard's boxer shorts alone.." he shuddered dramatically, "and of course he has to be all "stoic" about it all. I can't _believe_ he lied to the medical team. If I'd had any idea that it wasn't the first time he'd blacked out when he practically fainted in my arms, I would have.."

"Rodney!" Carson had to raise his voice in order to interrupt McKay's monologue of complaints.

"He'll be fine," he reassured gently, knowing that, behind the apparent callousness of the scientist's sharp-tongued diatribe, Rodney's nervous babble stemmed mostly from a deep, unspoken concern for his friend and team mate. "He's exhausted, dehydrated and somewhat malnourished, as are all of you.."

"Well, yes, of course," McKay interrupted, his chin rising defiantly as he apparently realised how close he had come to showing genuine, public concern for someone other than himself, "it's a wonder I haven't had a major hypoglycaemic reaction, really. I'm lucky to be alive.."

Carson continued his explanation with a poorly-hidden smile, choosing to ignore McKay's familiar dramatics, "He needs plenty of rest and food and I'll start an IV to counteract the dehydration. He'll also need a course of antibiotics and, I'm afraid, a wee spot of surgery."

McKay was a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, his facial expressions changing as rapidly as his sharp mind processed one idea and the next. His ill-concealed relief at hearing Sheppard was ok was quickly replaced by shock and a hint of panic as the mention of surgery.

"_What_? What surgery?"

Carson grimaced as he made his way back to the Colonel's bedside, McKay following him through the privacy curtains as he picked up Colonel Sheppard's chart and made some notations. "It seems the medical team from the Daedalus weren't able to get quite all of the shrapnel out of his wounds. There are one or two pieces lodged quite deeply. Most likely they've snapped off when larger pieces were being removed."

McKay's cheeks flushed with colour as his voice rose in indignation. "I knew it! Those charlatans! Marines with medical degrees, I ask you!"

"Now Rodney, that's hardly fair," Carson interrupted calmly. "From what I understand the conditions were less than ideal and they did the best they could. The only way these fragments are coming out is surgically and they simply didn't have the facilities for that kind of procedure on the hive ship."

"Besides," he glanced at the soundly sleeping Colonel with an exasperated smile, "d'you really think Colonel Sheppard would have let himself be taken out of the action for even a minor operation with so much going on?"

Rodney's ire seemed to drain from him at that, his mouth twisting as he admitted, quietly, "They did say they couldn't be sure… He told them to put a dressing on it and he'd get you to look at it once we got back." McKay eyes were filled with an emotion Carson could quite put a name to as he regarded Sheppard's limp form. "_If_ we got back."

"And that's precisely what we're doing," Carson soothed. "It's a relatively minor procedure, done under local anaesthetic. It'll be over and done with before you know it and the Colonel can go back to getting some much needed rest – which," he held up a hand to forestall Rodney's interruption, "is precisely what I want you and Ronon to do; _after_ you've had something to eat."

He ushered McKay out into the main body of the infirmary to find Ronon still stretched out along his assigned exam bed; the Satedan was snoring gently. Carson couldn't help a grin.

"Ronon."

"Hmph. Wha?" The runner came awake sharply, sitting up in a smooth movement before he'd even registered where he was and who was speaking. He blinked slowly when he saw Rodney and Carson and took a moment to rub his eyes tiredly, mumbling, "Oh. It's you."

"Come on, big guy," McKay said, not unkindly, "we've got our marching orders."

The Satedan looked to Beckett for confirmation and the doctor repeated his instructions to Rodney. "I want you both to go get something to eat and then get some rest. You'll sleep a lot better in your own quarters than in here and, quite frankly, I've enough to do without tripping over you two every time I turn around," he teased gently.

Ronon looked more alert now, and his deep voice rumbled as he asked one last question, "Sheppard?"

Carson nodded. "He's fine. I need to remove a couple of wee bits of shrapnel from his leg and he needs plenty of rest. By the time you two wake up he'll be as right as rain."

He watched fondly as Ronon and McKay made their weary way from the infirmary, headed for the mess hall, before turning briskly to his team, issuing orders for the OR to be prepped and assigning nursing staff to assist him with Colonel Sheppard.

The Colonel was dead to the world when Beckett slipped back inside the privacy curtain with an IV kit and a bag of saline solution; he hadn't moved even an inch from the position Carson had left him in, his head slumped slightly to the side, his bare legs sprawled limply on the firm mattress. Beckett took the opportunity to set up the drip while the Colonel was otherwise occupied; Sheppard didn't even flinch as the needle slid smoothly beneath the skin at the crook of his elbow.

"Colonel?"

"Colonel Sheppard?"

It took a firm shake to the shoulder and repeated calling of his name to rouse Sheppard from his deep sleep. He shuddered back to consciousness, his eyelids heavy with sleep as he blinked dazedly at Carson.

"Doc?" His voice was faint, woozy.

"Aye, Colonel. That's right. I'm sorry to have to wake you, son, but I'm afraid we need to do a wee bit of surgery to get rid of the last of the shrapnel from your leg."

Sheppard grumbled sleepily. "They didn't get it all?"

"Fraid not, Colonel. Not to worry though, it'll only take a moment or two under local anaesthetic. You won't feel a thing."

"Hmph." Sheppard was hovering on the verge of sleep, his body seemingly too exhausted to do much more than stir weakly. Carson was about to call in a nurse to help him move the bed when the Colonel tensed suddenly, his eyes focusing sharply, and Beckett had to again revise his opinion of the man's seemingly limitless willpower.

"McKay and Ronon?"

"They're fine, son. Gone to get something to eat followed by a well-earned rest."

Sheppard relaxed back against the pillows, the last of his strength seeming to flow out of him along with the tension in his muscles. "Good. S'good," he mumbled tiredly.

"Right then, lad. Let's get you into theatre. Susan, can you help me with the bed please?"

Between the Carson and his nurse, they got Sheppard's bed moving towards the small operating theatre where Beckett's surgical team waited to assist him with extracting the embedded remnants of Sheppard's F302.

"Hey, Doc?"

"Yes, Colonel?" He'd thought for a moment the Colonel had drifted back off to sleep but Sheppard's voice was firm, if drowsy.

"How d'you feel about house calls these days?"

"I'm sorry, son?"

Sheppard's voice slurred as he slipped slowly back towards much-needed sleep.

"Got something I need to show you later…"

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_Fin_


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